


The Lady of the Rock

by teadreams



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Beauty and the Beast Elements, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Lady Lives (ASoIaF), Married Tyrion Lannister/Sansa Stark, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:27:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28839285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teadreams/pseuds/teadreams
Summary: What if Jon Arryn and King Robert both survived? What if the War of Five Kings never occurred? With the dragon queen threatening invasion from the east and a long winter foretelling death at home, the realm must be wholly unified to survive. What better way to heal the unspoken divide between the Lannisters and the Starks but by uniting their households through marriage?Neither Sansa nor Tyrion can refuse the King's royal decree. They are to be married.At first, Sansa feel as if her lifelong dreams of a great romance have been ruined and she is terrified by the rumors surrounding the Lannister "imp". Tyrion expects that the most desirable maid in all of Westeros must resent being tied to him and fears that he will never even find friendship with this cold and aloof beauty. Hopefully jointly ruling the Westerlands and meeting the duel threats of dragon fire and white walkers will dissuade them of these misconceptions.
Relationships: Tyrion Lannister/Sansa Stark
Comments: 85
Kudos: 111





	1. Chapter 1

Sansa sat quietly in her father’s solar. Though she could faintly hear the hot springs rushing through the walls, it was still one of the colder rooms in Winterfell’s Great Keep. She was glad to be outfitted in a warm woolen dress, only embellished by the simple silver embroidery twisting around the sleeve. Her father had asked to speak with her alone. As she waited for him to arrive, she wondered about this imminent discussion. She was sure they would be speaking about her future betrothal. Or apparent lack of betrothal. Sansa was nearing nine and ten years and yet had barely been in society or heard any news of a betrothal. Either she was to be presented at court and have the opportunity to catch the eye of a noble lord or her father would arrange a marriage for her to affirm an old alliance or foster a new one. She much preferred the first option, though she knew of many eligible lords in the realm who she would be excited to wed. And yet she had never left Winterfell, nor had she even heard rumors about any possible betrothals.

Sansa skimmed her hand along her sleeve. She knew she would be a tremendous success as a great lady, her demeanor and skills making her well suited to run a noble household. She knew the role that was expected of her and she had trained her entire life to fulfill the position. She was ready to embrace her duty. _And I am also excited to embark on a great romance._ She knew that marriage was her duty, but she had spent so many of her evenings reading about love in epic poems or listening to the romantic songs of traveling bards. She fantasized about her living the life of one of these maidens, being rescued by a handsome and gallant nobleman, or even a prince! _And why shouldn’t I expect a great romance? I am a young accomplished woman from an ancient and eminent family._

The door of the solar opened and Sansa’s thoughts were interrupted as her father entered the room. Eddard Stark’s mouth formed a hard line and his eyes looked tired. _He looks like he would rather not be having this conversation, as to be expected. He probably does not like the idea of me leaving home._ Ned sat beside Sansa and began to speak in a low tone. “Sansa, as you are aware, you are at an age when you are expected to fulfill your duty to your family and to the realm. Your duty is marriage.”

Sansa nodded. “Yes father. I have been hoping to have this conversation with you, seeing as I am nearing ten and nine and have no betrothal.”

Ned looked even more tired as he continued. “I had hoped for more time to arrange a betrothal for you or to take you to court, but the realm has presented a specific task for you.”

“A specific task?” Sansa chest felt tight with the first pangs of worry. It was unlike her father to dance around a point and his generalities unnerved her.

“Your mother and I married for the sake of an alliance. We did not know each other before our wedding day.” This recollection of a story Sansa knew well only heightened her anxiety. “Our marriage may have resulted in love, but its primary aim was for the greater good of the realm. It united our houses and lent strength to the rebellion which restored justice and peace to Westeros. I hope you understand that you have an important role to play in uniting our great house with another great house.”

“Of course, Father. But what does this mean? Have you arranged a betrothal?”

“Yes.” Ned paused for a moment. As if contemplating if he was really going to reveal this piece of information or if he could continue to protect his young daughter from her inevitable future. “You will be married to the Lord of Casterly Rock.”

Sansa was confused for a moment. _The Lord of Casterly Rock? But Tywin Lannister is not only old, but also dead. I remember he died from some strange disease a few months ago. He had left the imp as his heir and–no, I must be mistaken somehow. Father would never marry me to that lecherous cruel demon._ All she could utter was the name in the form of a question, hoping that her father would explain her strange misapprehension. “Tyrion Lannister?”

“Yes. He is not the first man I would have chosen for you, but the realm is facing dark times. Winter is coming and we all must fulfill our duty.”

At first Sansa was too stunned for words. She shuddered to think of the stories of the imp, stories that had traveled so far north as to reach Winterfell. She had heard of his horribly deformed face with catlike eyes that made him more beast than human. She had heard of his lecherous deeds with whores. While of course the specifics would never grace a lady’s ears she concluded that whatever he did it must be perverse and horrible. She sat there for a few second until the dread in her chest became too great and she had to speak. “But father, I have heard of Tyrion Lannister. He is evil, he will hurt me, you will have condemned me to a life of misery .”

Ned looked strained as he continued to speak. “Sansa, I know he is far from the handsome prince you have imagined, but I trust you will not be harmed. I trust Jon Arryn, the hand of King, and he assures you will be well looked after at Casterly Rock.”

“Even if he is not evil and I will be safe” though _she_ did not trust Jon Arryn and was not assured that it was safe, “I can never hope for love or happiness. I will be miserable for the rest of my life. How could you possibly agree to this?”

Ned’s face was stern, but his eyes betrayed his sadness at his daughter’s distress. He wished he could revoke this betrothal, but he knew his duty to his king, and he trusted Jon Arryn’s wisdom.

“The king has decreed that the tension between the Lannister’s and the Starks must abate. The king’s hand Jon Arryn has written to me personally explaining the necessity of a marriage alliance between our two houses. The dragon queen is assembling an army in the East and the realm must unite. Winter is coming and we each must fulfill our duty in order for the pack to survive. I know you will fulfill your duty to your family and the realm. You will be the lady of a great house and have noble heirs.”

Ned did not broach the subject of companionship in marriage, himself believing too many of the stories about the imp to believe love or even friendship was a possibility.

“Sansa, you will have a privileged and fulfilling life. Your duty demands that you make that life at Casterly rock.”

Sansa’s eyes burned with tears and her stomach heaved as if she were ill. Her entire body tingled with a strange numbness. All of her hope, her dreams, everything she had spent her entire life preparing for, had been destroyed in a few minutes. She could not process this change. She could not comprehend that the wicked villain of the songs, who her husband was supposed to save her from, was to _be_ her husband. This creature of nightmares was to share her life, her home, even her bed.

“Father, may I be excused.”

Ned only nodded and Sansa quickly excited the solar. As she swept through Winterfell’s halls, she could feel her breathing become shorter and more labored. She felt as if she were floating above herself, watching someone else run into her room and shakily close the door. Sansa sat in shock on her bed. _If the marriage is important to the King and father has already agreed to it, then there was no chance of changing his mind._ She knew that pleading to Ned would make no difference. He knew how this would crush her and would not have agreed to it if he saw any other options. _I could run away._ But where would she go? What about her duty to her family? She was still Eddard Stark’s daughter, and she knew she must not endanger her family and must fulfill her duty. The realization that she could not, considering honor and practicality, discard the betrothal, cut through her shock. Sansa began to sob. Her chest heaved and her face became wet with tears as she mourned her childhood dreams and her future happiness. Her body shook as she considered the possible tortures she would have to endure as a captive of the imp, not believing Jon Arryn’s guarantee of safety. She cried until she felt wrung out and removed her dress and climbed into bed. It was hours before she would normally sleep but she felt like she had been awake for days. As she climbed under her blankets, Lady climbed on top of her and licked her face. She buried her wet face into Lady’s neck and let out a long sigh. At least Lady could come with her to Casterly Rock. She would think about it more in the morning. She weakly clutched Lady to her side and drifted off into a stony sleep.

*******

Kevan Lannister eyed the crumpled paper on Tyrion’s desk. “Should I take that to mean the King sustains his request?”

“Request? Order is a more apt description. Jon Arryn and Robert have given me no choice. They have made it a royal decree.” Tyrion said with a grumble.

“I still don’t understand why you resist this marriage. Sansa Stark is the most eligible women in the Seven Kingdoms, she will make a fine Lady of the Rock. When I advised you to take a wife, I did not hope for such a match! You will have no trouble smoothing over relations with your bannermen now.”

“Uncle, your advice to marry was wise. I am in utter agreement that a talented wife and a great many heirs will ease the tensions with the Western lords, make them more comfortable having a half-man as their liege.” It was one matter for Tyrion to negotiate with foreign Lords on an equal playing field, where his wit and locution made him a successful negotiator. The Westerlands relations with the other Seven Kingdoms had thrived during Tyrion’s few moons as Lord. It was another matter completely to garner the respect of his bannermen. The relationship between a Lord and his bannermen was nothing without respect and trust, qualities that Western lords did not associate with the imp, who they believed to be weak and cunning by nature. Kevan had rightfully advised Tyrion to marry, to normalize himself in the eyes of his bannermen, and to secure his position with a few Lannister heirs.

Tyrion continued “You must admit, Uncle, that there is a difference between my original plan of marrying a willing Western noblewoman and a coerced marriage with the beauty of the north.” He had originally planned to approach some impoverished western noblemen with too many daughters and not enough land. He had reasoned that a woman who had no prospects would willingly choose to be Lady of the Rock, her position compensating for marrying him. He had hoped, secretly fantasized, that he could find friendship and companionship in this wife. He would not dare to hope for more, he never had hoped for any genuine love after Tysha. “As you have said Uncle, Sansa Stark is the most eligible women in the Seven Kingdoms. That is exactly why she will resent being married to me. And why shouldn’t she? When she could have any tall handsome lord from Sunspear to The Wall?”

“I advise you not to fight the King further on this issue. You know as well as I the severity of those who undermine Robert’s new unity in the realm scheme.” Tyrion could understand why Jon Arryn was so eager to tie together the Warden of the West and North through marriage. If he and Ned Stark could cooperate, the Seven Kingdoms might actually have a chance against the Targaryen queen. He wished his marriage could be more than a political maneuver. He had hoped that marriage would ease his solitude. He wished to have a partner that could share the burdens of governance, someone who could advise him. He was sure that Sansa Stark was well equipped to be the Lady of Casterly Rock, but he doubted she would seek his companionship. His former fantasy of friendship had evaporated when he imagined how much Sansa would resent him. A woman with so many prospects would surely be displeased at being forced to marry the most hideous creature in the realm. Tyrion shuddered to think about the revulsion and hatred he expected to be in her eyes when they met.

“I would be wise to send the ravens soon. Jon Arryn insists that we marry in two moons.” Pleased that Tyrion accepted the marriage, Kevan bid Tyrion a good day and left him in the chamber alone. It was in these moments that Tyrion was tempted to rely on his old vices. He wished he could spend the evening in the library, slowly drinking himself into a stupor. But he had work to do, lands to rule. He could no longer loose days to drunkenness.

Tyrion had always yearned for responsibility and the chance to put his intelligence to good use, but he had made a vast leap from overseeing the drainage of Casterly Rock to be its absolute master. _Father must be rolling in his grave_. Tywin Lannister had never officially named Tyrion his heir. He was so confident that he could remove Jamie from the Kingsguard and therefore circumvent the public shame of disinheriting Tyrion. The arrogant man had never considered the possibility of his untimely death. Though most of the Lannister family knew that Tywin preferred his brother Kevin to be his heir rather than Tyrion, Kevan was not an ambitious man. He spent his life loyally serving Tywin and was uninterested in fighting Tyrion for the Lordship, preferring to maintain the familiar role as the Lord’s most trusted advisor. He had been a supportive and steady presence, providing wise and sensible advice to Tyrion.

Tyrion knew his father would have expected him to destroy the Lannister dynasty, letting drunkenness cloud his judgement and shaming the Lannister name, just as his grandfather had done. _Father was wrong about me. I will be the greatest lord Casterly Rock has seen since the Age of Heroes._ Tyrion’s resolve to disprove his father extended to his patronage of the whorehouses of Lannisport. He knew that he must improve his reputation in order to be trusted by his bannermen. Even though many respected lords in the realm frequented such establishments, smallfolk and noblemen alike distorted his visitations into fabricated tales of the lecherous imp. He had once been amused by the exaggerated stories of his perversion, debauchery, and even violence, pleased that they aggravated his father. Now he needed to dispel those rumors, meaning that he must be much more discreet. Yet he had not garnered the energy to plan a secret liaison. Living without the lies of whores during the months after his father’s death had lessoned their appeal. He had partially spent those months dwelling on his disgust with his own need to pay for love. The feigned warmth and love of past experience had become distasteful. Tyrion chucked darkly as a thought crossed his mind. _At least Sansa will be honest. She won’t pretend to love me for the coin. She won't love me at all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have about six chapters written so far and I plan to write about twenty. I am really excited to explore Sansa and Tyrion's dynamic in this alternate timeline. I think both characters are deeply flawed but their virtues would have prevailed in happier circumstances (particularly with Tyrion.) This story shows how a more mature and less traumatized Sansa could overcome her own prejudice, while a Tyrion who actually has responsibility and support will not descend into the selfish villain he can sometimes be in the book. 
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated! They are my writing fuel! I would love to hear feedback/criticism but any comments or reactions would be great :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely comments on the last chapter! It truly made me so happy to see you excited about the story. Once again, any feedback or reactions are always appreciated.
> 
> I am hoping to update once a week for now on!

Sansa’s eyelids felt as heavy as the old tome she had been reading for the past few hours. Lady wined and nudged her fingers, the direwolf seemingly tired of the drafty library tower. Sansa smiled softly at Lady and reached over to close the book. The chain attached to its spine rattled lightly as she hefted it onto the corner table. She gently walked over to Septon Chayle who was sifting through Winterfell’s oldest scrolls. “I have left _History of the Dawn Age_ in the corner. Goodnight Chayle.”

The Septon eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Did you become tired of the Lysene romances you were reading yesterday, my lady?” Septon Chayle asked.

“No, I finished them early this morning. They did not leave much to the imagination. I will say, I may need to learn Valyrian in order to properly assess them, but I much preferred the translations of Myrish poetry. There was more mystery in those stories, they left more to the imagination, rather than instructions on what to think.” Sansa blushed slightly at her outburst. She was always excited to discuss literature, but no one in her family was interested and visitors to Winterfell never wanted to hear her analysis beyond a bland comment on the poem’s loveliness. They certainly would not be interested in her opinions of _History of the Dawn Age_.

“You see, Chayle, all of that poetry made me want to revisit some of my favorite legends of history. Prose can be refreshing.”

“Of course, my lady. It has been quite the task keeping up with your reading these past few weeks. I am relieved that I acquired new books during my last journey to White Harbor.”

“You will not need to trouble yourself Chayle, soon I will no longer be in need of Winterfell’s library. I will be at Casterly Rock” she said as she quickly exited the library.

Sansa walked carefully down the stone steps wrapping around the tower. She felt tired, and she attempted to fill her mind once again with the histories of Westeros, rather than the despair provoked by any thoughts of her future. She had spent the past weeks busying herself to the point of exhaustion, anything to not think about her betrothal. During the day she focused absolutely on her lessons with her Septa and on her siblings. She hurled herself fully into any interaction or activity, trying to block out any contemplation of her wretched future.

When she entered her bedchamber, she was surprised to see Arya sitting on her bed, lighting a candle by her bedside. “Arya, you should be asleep, it is late.” Sansa admonished, though there was no bite to her criticism.

“I could say the same to you.” Arya answered with a smirk. As the two sisters had matured, they had grown out of the rivalry and tension that had characterized their childhood. Arya had particularly looked to her when Jon went missing. Though Jon had visited one time since joining the Night’s Watch, it had been three years since they had heard from him. The Lord Commander had written that his ranging patrol had never returned and they were assumed to be killed by wildlings. Arya had been devastated by his disappearance. Sansa was surprised to find that she too felt deep sorrow over the possibility of Jon’s death, even though she was never particularly close to her half-brother. Though they still hoped Jon and their Uncle Benjen would be found, the thought of their possible death put childish quarrels into perspective.

Ever since Sansa’s betrothal, they had become closer than ever before. Arya understood in a way that her brothers never could. Even though Sansa had always dreamed of marriage and Arya had been dreading it, both of their fates were tied to marriage. She walked up to her bed and hugged Arya in gratitude, hoping the gesture would convey all that she could not say. Arya hugged her back and then rose. Sansa looked into her face, trying to memorize every feature, knowing that she may not see her for many years.

“We should both be asleep. Goodnight Sansa.”

“Goodnight Arya.”

Sansa lay abed and hoped, as she did every night, for a quick passage into sleep. She had hoped that exhausting herself with constant activity would stop her mind from wandering. Against her wishes, alone in the dark of the night, she could not stop her mind from dwelling on her former dreams. Her mind would first conjure images of the life she had always dreamed of– a handsome prince gently escorting her through a garden, seeking her opinions on governance. As a girl, she had thought she would be betrothed to Prince Joffrey. It made perfect sense due to their nearness in age and their fathers’ friendship. Sansa believed that she would have thrived as a princess and queen. She had heard that Prince Joffrey was so very handsome, and she was sure he must be gallant as well. She imagined the shining blond young man would be her very own Galladon of Morne, the perfect knight. She would have been proud to be the queen to such a brave king, defending her and all those in the realm, brining justice and peace to the entirety of Westeros.

Now these fantasies twisted in her mind, the handsome face morphing into one more animal than human. Her beautiful prince was to be replaced by the demon monkey. Instead of genteel walks in the garden there would be lecherous grabbing and perverse impositions. Instead of loving companionship she would be isolated in a foreign land, only with brief and unpleasant visits from her husband and chilly and difficult public appearances. Her mind would then dwell on the horrors much worse that loneliness and discomfort. She would obsess over the stories of the imp having no compassion, taking delight in hurting others. The imp would probably seek to humiliate her, to humble her before his court, and torture her in private. She would wake up shaking from nightmares, terrified of the torments that would he would inflicted on her. In these moments Sansa would try to breath in strength and remind herself of her duty. _I will be an excellent Lady to the Westerlands._ _I am strong and intelligent, and I will find a way to protect myself. I will be prepared._ She just hoped whatever trials she was put through would not be too painful.

*****

“Please allow me to offer you wine Lord Crakehall.” Tyrion said as he lifted the flagon to pour.

“No thank you, my lord.” _Damn him. How am I supposed to get the man to trust me if he won’t even drink my wine?_ Tyrion needed Crakehall in order to establish his new trading scheme, but the aging Lord was impervious to Tyrion’s attempts to win him over. Crakehall’s unwavering loyalty to Tywin Lannister was apparently not extended to Tyrion.

“I completely understand Lord Crakehall, I myself have been indulging less since my father’s death.” Crakehall quirked his eye a bit at this, obviously not believing that the imp would ever quit drinking, but he made no comment on it.

“But there are many who profit from the wine trade. The merchants in Oldtown have become rich trading wine from the summer isles. All of our wines come from Oldtown. The Tyrells reap all the profits while we pay extortionate prices.”

“That is the way it has always been, my lord. Crakehall has no business getting involved in trade outside of Westeros.”

“Crakehall is not currently involved in the trade, but your seat has so much potential. If you simply made your ports more friendly to foreign trade, a few adjustments could bring about an era of wealth. You will not have to actually expend any funds! Just have your men allow for merchants to set up a marketplace, tax them, and you will enrich yourself and the entire Westerlands.” Tyrion attempted his least terrifying smile, trying to appear friendly and nonthreatening by hiding his teeth and squinting his eyes to lessen their intimidating presence. This must be the tenth time he had suggested such a thing in the past hour, each time phrasing it in a way that might make the aged lord more receptive.

“Yes, my lord. I will certainly discuss this with my council back in Crakehall” he responded with hesitation. Tyrion was no fool. He knew there would be no discussion of encouraging foreign trade in Crakehall Castle. As Lord Paramount of the Westerlands he could apply pressure, but Crakehall was one of the Lannister’s principle banner men and it would be a mistake to make major enemies so early in his career. He knew he must attempt a diplomatic path.

“Of course. Thank you for meeting with me today. I hope you enjoy your time in Casterly Rock” Tyrion said tactfully, knowing that he should end the conversation before he said anything that he would later regret. He knew that Tywin would have only had to ask once, and this sycophantic old fool would have complied. Tyrion bristled and the thought of his father. _How can I get these fools to respect me? If they do not respect intelligence, then there is nothing more I can offer them._ Tyrion knew that simple reason would not convince Crakehall to open his ports to foreign trade. The man needed to be convinced that Tyrion was trustworthy, powerful, and serious before he would even consider any such changes. _With an appearance like mine? He will never trust me. No one trusts the demon monkey as their liege lord._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to set a few things up in this chapter but we will really get going with the story in chapter 3. 
> 
> As you can see, Sansa may be older and more mature here, but she has yet to be dissuaded of her childish fantasies of superficial chivalric romance. I am planning for her to become disillusioned through a much kinder course of events than in the books.


	3. Chapter 3

A cool and salty breeze swept across the green rolling hills, reminding Sansa that she was nearing the ocean and Casterly Rock. She took a deep breath in an attempt to chase away the dread catching in her throat. _Casterly Rock will be my new home and the scent of the ocean will become as familiar to me as the frost of Winterfell._ The memory of her true home cause Sansa’s vision to blur with tears but she quickly rubbed her face and steeled herself against any emotional displays. She had not cried since leaving Winterfell and she knew if she started now, she would be unable to stop. She had freely sobbed as she left Winterfell, holding each of her siblings tight in a final goodbye. Her goodbye to her parents was less warm. Even though she accepted her duty, she could not forgive them for not even fighting for her, not even attempting to oppose the betrothal. She could not help but become stiff when they had embraced her, tears silently tracking down her cheeks.

“Look my Lady! We can see Casterly Rock at last.” One of her father’s men pointed out to her. The enormous castle on a cliff towered in the distance, its stones turned orange by the evening sun, but Sansa was more excited about the vast expanse of sea she saw beyond the castle. She laughed aloud in wonderment. It was so unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was so vast and so very blue! Sansa could not help but grin in amazement at such a place, bursting with color and warmth.

As her party approached the entrance, a staircase leading through enormous cavern, her girlish grin slipped from her face. In the darkness and damp of the cavern, Sansa could feel herself becoming increasingly frozen with fear. She was going to meet the imp and her future would be beginning in actuality. She took deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself and sharpen her focus. She knew she would be needing all of her faculties to survive in the lion’s den. _I must remember my uncle’s warning._

During their journey south, Sansa and her party had stopped at Riverrun and was welcomed by her mother’s family. After a modest feast in her honor, her great uncle, known as the Blackfish, had pulled her aside for a private conversation. The tall grey-haired man had looked at her with kindness and sympathy but had spoken bluntly.

“Sansa, I know we have only just met but I hope you will trust me and accept my advice.”

“Of course, uncle. My mother speaks fondly of you always and holds your wisdom in high regard. I would be grateful for your guidance.”

The blackfish smiled sadly at this but continued with this advice. “You are to marry Lord Lannister.” He grimaced as he said the words. “If I were your father, I would have fought the King over such a betrothal. But that is no longer our concern and you must face this reality. I am sure you have heard the tales of Tyrion Lannister.”

Sansa nodded solemnly. “Yes, the stories of his lechery and cruelty have made it all the way to the North.”

“I am glad you are prepared, but I must warn you further. The Lannister’s are deceitful by nature. They are masters at luring you in with charm and glittering trinkets, but underneath they have no honor. They will stab you in the back and betray you, just as the kingslayer did. It is in their nature. You must make allies in Casterly Rock but trust no one. Tyrion Lannister may even pretend to be kind, but do not fall for his tricks.”

Sansa was disturbed by her uncle’s blunt pronouncement. He saw her alarm and quickly continued talking.

“Do not worry Sansa, he may cunning, but I can see you are truly intelligent. You will easily be able to outsmart him. With allies in the trident and the north, he will not dare hurt you. I only worry that you will be manipulated. You must be guarded and wary at all times. Remember not to fall for their tricks and false kindness.”

Her uncle’s advice repeated in her mind like the beat of a drum. _I must be guarded and observant. Betray nothing and trust no one._ Sansa steeled herself as they approach the cavern exit and the keep of Casterly Rock. _I will be the perfect lady._

A small crowd was gathered in front of the entrance to the keep. Sansa tried to swallow but her mouth was completely dry. She kept her eyes focused on the path in front of her until she was helped off of her horse. Shaky from weeks of riding, she carefully focused on gaining her footing on the ground, her head tilted downward. As she looked up her eyes landed on a small figure, who must be Tyrion Lannister. It was true, he was a small man. She doubted if his head could reach her shoulder. She quickly looked him over. His face was unusual with a protruding forehead and features somewhat squashed in around a small nose, but his eyes were the most abnormal. One eye was a pale green while the other was completely black. Unlike the tales she had been told, those eyes looked nothing like an animal. They looked more human and more feeling than any she had ever seen. She looked away, unsettled by the emotionality of his mismatched stare. She switched her gaze to the women next to him, a buxom matronly woman spilling out of her revealing red dress. Next to her was a thin man in grey clothes and on Tyrion’s other side was a stern older man in Lannister red and a petite woman. These five stood in front of the rest.

“Lady Sansa. Please allow me to welcome you to Casterly Rock.” Sansa was almost shocked to hear the imp’s voice. It was deep and firm but also somehow gentle. All of Sansa’s years of etiquette and preparation for being the perfect Lady allowed her to slip into a rout response.

“My Lord, it is an honor to make your acquaintance” Sansa said as she curtsied. Tyrion nodded stiffly and continued in his welcome.

“This is my uncle Ser Kevan Lannister and his wife Dorna Lannister.” The stern man nodded, and the women curtsied. “This is my aunt Gemma Frey and her husband Emmon Frey.” The matronly women in red grinned at her and stepped forward, embracing Sansa as if they were family. _Soon she will be my family_.

“I am so pleased to welcome a young lady such as yourself to the Rock. I am expecting everything to be much livelier now that you have arrived.”

Sansa politely smiled at Gemma. She could not trust her but maybe she could be a possible ally in the Lannister household.

“Thank you, my Lady. I am eager to help in any way that I can.”

It was then that Sansa’s direwolf Lady decided to trot to her side, excited to meet new people. There were gasps among the Lannister crowd and many of the guards swiftly pointed their maces at the direwolf. Sansa stepped forward.

“Please do not be alarmed. My direwolf, Lady, is well trained and would never harm anyone.” Sansa patted Lady on the head and told her to roll over. Lady dutifully rolled on her back and looked up. This did not appease the crowd and the guards still held their weapons. Tyrion stepped up and cleared his throat.

“Lady Sansa’s direwolf shall be treated as an honored guest. Men, put your weapons away.” The guards obeyed but Sansa could see the fear had not left their faces.

Tyrion stepped forward again, a grin stretching his strange face. “Of course, a true Stark travels with a genuine direwolf.”

He looked up at Sansa and held out his hand towards Lady. “May I?” Sansa nodded and Tyrion reached out and petted Lady on the head. Lady, seemingly pleased by this small man, leaned into his touch and then licked him on the hand. The imp’s eyes lit up as he chuckled and murmured to himself “what an amazing creature.”

Sansa felt uncomfortable, not knowing what to do as she watched the imp pet Lady. He seemed to realize how long he was spending with the direwolf and suddenly stepped back. “My Lady, you must be exhausted from your journey. Allow me to escort you to your chambers. Your men will be well looked after a while you rest and prepare for dinner.” Sansa glanced back at Jory, her father’s most trusted man. He was already handing his steed off to a groom. She sent Lady to her father's men, knowing that it would take more time to acquaint the castle with a direwolf. They nodded at each other as Sansa followed Tyrion into the keep and the crowd dispersed. She followed him through a grand hall, which must have been triple the size of the great hall at Winterfell. She barely had a moment to examine the ornate room before Tyrion turned down a side corridor. She followed closely behind, watching his odd gait. The corridor they turned into was bustling with servants. A young man carrying a platter the size of his torso narrowly missed hitting a woman whose arms were filled with multicolored fabric.

“All of the servants are busy preparing. There is not usually quite this much activity but since we are to be wed in three days…”

“Yes, my lord” Sansa responded stiffly, too overwhelmed by the grandeur of the castle to react to this reference to their imminent marriage. They came to a grand doorway flanked on either side by guards who swiftly opened the doors for their lord.

“This is the north wing of the castle.” The corridor they entered was wide with oval shaped windows, allowing light to pour in over an ornate staircase. Sansa watched as the imp ascended the stairs. He looked strange as his waddling gait was magnified by the staircase. At the top of the staircase was a smaller corridor and Tyrion stopped in front of a large wooden door.

“These are your chambers, Lady Sansa. I will leave you here and come to escort you to dinner. I will be in my solar which is only down the corridor. If you need anything, you can come find me there. I will be honored to oblige you in any way.”

Sansa nodded, though she knew his solar was the last place she would go if she were in need. The imp looked as if he wanted to say more, but he stopped himself. He nodded and left Sansa to explore.

As she opened the heavy oaken doors, she breathed out a sigh of amazement. The room was large and full of light, so unlike her chambers at Winterfell. The north facing wall boasted tall lancet windows that were covered in ornate carved patterns. The entire room was awash with sunlight, the yellows and reds of the linens made radiant by the setting sun. As servants bustled in and out bringing her belongings, she observed a mirror atop a velvet covered table next to an elm chest and enormous bureau. She found the bed chamber in the back, protected from the main chamber by large gilded doors.

The west wall in main chamber opened up to a balcony overlooking the ocean. Sansa rushed out onto the balcony and looked over the ocean, breathing in the salty air. She looked over the edge to see the waves crashing against the sun lit rocks and heard seagulls in the distance. For a moment she felt pure pleasure at the beauty of this place. But soon the moment was overcome by the dread of what was to follow. She knew she needed to mentally prepare herself for dinner with the lions, to look her best and be her best, to impress without giving anything away.

She mulled over all of the information she had gathered so far. Tyrion Lannister was nothing like she had expected. It was true that he was no handsome prince, his stature and face were abnormal, but he was nothing like the animalistic monster she expected. He seemed so….genuine. His voice sounded truthful and honest. He even seemed brave, the way he held his hand out to Lady. Even the strongest knights usually kept their distance from the direwolves at first, especially now that they were larger than dogs. But Tyrion had not kept his distance. He seemed delighted by Lady and Lady seemed to trust him. The hopeful part of Sansa, the one that believed in chivalric tales and loved the songs of traveling minstrels, wanted to believe that the stories about Tyrion Lannister were not true. _I should stop being such a child. The Blackfish himself warned me about the Lannister’s deception._ Sansa sighed as she resigned herself to reality. Soon she would be battling everyone just to stay safe and unharmed. She did not know how long it would take for the imp to unleash his cruelty on her, but she knew it was coming and she would be prepared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly just love imagining Sansa's life with Lady in it. I still need to figure out all of the dynamics of a full grown direwolf living in Casterly Rock, but I'm working on it.
> 
> As always, I love hearing your thoughts on the story so far. I hope you enjoy :)


	4. Chapter 4

The sun was now dipping below the horizon with the last light of day shining into Sansa’s chamber. The end of this long day, one of the last of summer, was in fact quite beautiful. A breeze of the forthcoming night cooled Sansa’s cheeks as she looked out at the ocean. Her hair was damp, and her skin gleamed from vigorous scrubbing. Her new chambermaids had ushered her into a steaming bath and washed away all traces of the road, but they had left moments ago, and now she sat alone.

She had only a few minutes to sit and breath the fresh air before there was a knock at her door. Her stomach clenched at the sound. This would be her first time alone with the imp. She expected that the castle was less busy at this time of day and their walk to the family’s dining chamber would be unaccompanied. _I hope he sent a servant. If he is half as lecherous as people say, then he will use any alone time to satisfy his twisted appetite._ Sansa shuddered to think that her body would no longer be her own. The rumors had led her to believe that the imp responded violently to any disgusted reactions to his unwanted fondling. Sansa tried to steel herself in strength in order to stem an onslaught of fear. _My power is my composure and my wits._ She took a few breaths and when she was sure that a cool mask of civility covered her face, she crossed the room and opened the door.

She was able to display no reaction, no expression of disappointment, when her betrothed was indeed the one knocking. Tyrion looked up at her and attempted a smile, though it was so forced that it looked more like a grimace.

“My Lady, please allow me to escort you to the family dining room.” Sansa nodded politely at Tyrion’s request and followed him down the passage. She chose not to respond verbally. _I will be quiet and passive, unthreatening. If I make myself small, there will be no need to tear me down._ Tyrion looked back and forth from her face to the path, unsettled by her stony silence and blank face.

“Our family dining room is quite intimate, small actually. It will only be six of us tonight. We could have used one of the larger halls but as a small man, I prefer the room to match my size.” He smiled wryly at his own self-deprecation. _Is this a trap? If I agree will he be insulted? But I must not show any disloyalty by disagreeing._ Sansa remained silent, unsure of how to answer without offending the imp. They walked through the same corridor they had traversed earlier. As they descended the staircase and entered the corridor they had traversed earlier that day, Sansa relaxed. Even with the passage deserted and no servants in sight, Lord Lannister kept his distance. _He has no intent to harass me tonight. Though once we are bound, and I truly cannot escape. I will not be safe then._ Even with such a foreboding thought Sansa breathed easier knowing she was safe for the night.

They were the last of the party to enter the small hall. The four people she had met earlier were seated around a table. This private dining chamber was intimate but still lavishly decorated, gold covered the sconces, and the oak chairs were richly upholstered with a thick crimson fabric. Tyrion gestured for Sansa to sit between the two women present, Genna and Dorna, while he went to sit at the head of the table. As she sat down, she was struck by how opposite the two women were, Dorna petite and shy, Genna plump and gregarious. Sansa was surprised that Dorna was the first to speak with her. The slight, chinless women looked at her and said “You must meet my daughter Janei soon. She is younger than you, only nine years old, but she is always searching for more female companionship, what with three brothers.”

Sansa’s voice was distant but polite as she responded. “It would be my pleasure to be aquatinted with Janei. She is the same age as my brother Rickon and I am already missing him and all my siblings at Winterfell.”

Dorna looked at her with warmth, obviously delighted that Sansa had a close relationship with her siblings. Sansa glanced at the rest of the table and saw that Kevan Lannister looked approving as well and Genna had a sly but happy expression. The rest of the dinner past with discussions of family and the coming wedding. Sansa wanted to be taken in by their friendliness, to believe that she could truly be part of this family, but her uncle’s warning about the Lannister’s was always on her mind. She remained guarded. She was still the polite and elegant lady she was trained to be, but she did not open up to them and only spoke in response to other’s questions.

She did manage to learn a great deal about the Lannister during their dinner. Genna Frey continued to be a boisterous presence, but also mentioned counseling Tyrion at times, showing that she was also politically involved. Her husband Emmon Frey was dull, only joining the conversation when they briefly discussed hunting. It seemed that the thin grey man had no interests beyond hunting and his slow thoughts were not often expressed. Kevan Lannister seemed to be a kindly, if not somewhat stern and strait-laced man. His wife Dorna was only interested in discussing her children, completely disengaged from the running of Casterly Rock. It appeared that both Tyrion’s aunt and uncle were heavily involved in governing the Westerlands, though they deferred to his final judgement. The imp himself was gregarious, like his aunt, but a bit wittier. He would butt in with a comment here and there, often with multiple meanings. While Genna’s remarks had a caustic edge, Tyrion’s were often tinged with sympathy. It was as if he was making fun of while simultaneously rooting for whoever was the underdog.

The meal was less lavish than she expected from a southron house. It was still suited to a highborn family, but it was familiar. A course of roasted Quail in apples was paired with a dense brown bread that reminded her of home. She supposed that the imminent long winter was probably why the dinner was relatively humble, why they were not wasting their grain on luxurious refined pastries. _At least they know how to govern properly, to not waste food when we are preparing for a decade of frost and famine._ As the plates were cleared, Tyrion rose from his seat.

“I know you will all forgive me, but I really must retire to my solar.”

“Oh Tyrion, you really mustn’t work so much. Have a glass of wine! Sit down and spend some time with your dear aunt.” Genna protested, her round face already flushed from the wine she had with dinner.

“I wish we could talk all night, beloved aunt, but I have much to attend to.” Tyrion said with a smile.

“What happened to the days of drunken cavorting! I miss that Tyrion – he was more fun.” Genna said with mock annoyance, though she did seem honestly disappointed.

Tyrion looked back at her warmly and replied. “That Tyrion was not responsible for the governance of the entire Westerlands. I sometimes miss him too.” He nodded and said goodnight to everyone as he left.

Sometime later the rest of the group began to disperse and Genna insisted on escorting Sansa back to her chambers. As they walked Genna linked her arms with Sansa’s, her large and warm body pressing up against her.

“Oh my dear, you will have to make sure Tyrion does not work himself into the grave. I am glad he is taking his responsibilities seriously, but he really must learn to delegate. The boy works far too much.”

Sansa thought on this for a moment. It was a relief to her that Tyrion worked in the evenings. If he was busy running the realm, he would have less time to torment her. _I must present an agreeable front to Genna._

“Of course, my Lady” Sansa lied demurely, having no intention of ever deterring her future husband from anything that distracted him.

“Oh, nonsense, my sweet. Please call me Genna or auntie! We will be family soon.”

Before Sansa had a moment to respond, Genna continued exuberantly. “You are going to be so splendid here. After the wedding, we will have much to discuss regarding the duties of the lady of the rock. I hope you are a fast learner.”

Sansa was surprised that Genna would be training her. She expected this formidable southerner to want to retain any power she could possibly obtain.

“A fast learner?”

“Why, yes of course! You don’t know how glad I am to retire from the duties of Lady of the Rock. I have many friends who have missed my presence in their homes, but I couldn’t abandon poor Tyrion to fend for himself.” Genna ginned mischievously. “But now that you are here, I have no qualms about finally visiting my dear friends in the South. I want experience a mild winter so I must get going as soon as possible!”

Sansa relaxed a little. Genna seemed to have no ambition beyond leaving Casterly Rock. It was in her interest to help Sansa do a good job at her role. Sansa clung on to Genna’s arm a little tighter as they walked. _Maybe Genna could be my ally here._

_****_

Three piles of crinkled parchment covered the wide oak desk in the solar. Tyrion was attempting to sort through each house’s preparation for the long winter, grouping the plans by viability and making his own plans to assist and coordinate in their efforts. _If we are prepared, no one has to starve this winter._ He had been staring at the page describing the grain storage of Kayce for the last hour, but his mind kept drifting back to his soon to be wife. She was everything that was promised, radiantly beautiful, perfectly polite and poised, an ideal lady of the rock. The brief time that he had spent observing her was not nearly enough to glean any deeper information about her character – or if she resented him as much as she should. She had been hard to read during their short introduction and the dinner. Her polite and aloof manner could be explained by nerves. _Or by her absolute disgust in having to marry a half man._ She had displayed no outward aversion to him, but Tyrion knew that a perfectly trained Lady could mask her true emotions with ease. _Her face was so blank. What else would she be hiding but revulsion?_

Even with Tyrion’s tendency towards self-deprecation, he could not help but dwell on the moment when she had first laid eyes on him. He had watched her approach the keep of Casterly Rock, observing her radiant features and how very _tall_ she was in her simple travel clothes atop her horse. Her eyes were trained on the ground as her horse carried her the final stretch of the journey. It was not until she dismounted that she looked up, and her eyes had immediately met with Tyrion’s eyes.

When people met Tyrion for the first time, his unnatural appearance made them flinch. They especially avoided looking into his mismatched eyes. _Sansa did not look away._ She had looked directly into his eyes in those bare moments that he held her gaze. _Her immediate reaction to me was not disgust._ In fact, he could not help but remember that her gaze, in that movement, was filled with compassion and kindness. _No, I might have imagined it. I am prone to romantic delusions._

Tyrion attempted to refocus on the notes in front of him, not wishing to reflect further on his own nature. He already knew how gullible he was, how eager he was to believe that someone could love him for anything other than coin. He did not wish to ruin his night by thinking of Tysha.

When he could no longer focus on the notes in front of him, he lowered himself to the ground from his chair and yawned. It was another late night, but since he would be sleeping in his solar until the wedding, he did not have to travel far to undress and crawl onto the cot. As he moved to adjust on this temporary bed, he thought back to Sansa, wishing that he could have seen beyond her polite indifferent mask to learn something about her. _If I can discover what she is thinking, I can give her whatever she wishes, I can make Casterly Rock her home._ If there was anything Tyrion knew, beyond histories and strategies and politics, it was people. _Even if it is disgust she is hiding behind that mask of hers, I can work with it. Once I know more about her, I can strategize how best to proceed. I can make sure she doesn’t hate me._ With at least a plan in mind for dealing with the formidable Sansa Stark, he was able to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay in updating! I ended up moving around some of my later chapters and I wanted to make sure I was solid in my plan before proceeding. 
> 
> I know that I am continuing to torture you with Sansa's misconceptions! Don't worry, the end is in sight! I'm building up to their wedding, but after the wedding they will start the work of undoing the misunderstandings.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy the chapter! I also hope this is a good length. As I have been reorganizing my chapters, I have been thinking about if they should be shorter or longer. Let me know what you think.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to maggiesmith and thistleandthorn for discussing ladies-in-waiting with me in the comments! I truly appreciate all of your thoughtful comments :)

Sansa’s grey cloak whipped in the wind gliding up the cliff side. She had gathered with her father’s men directly outside of the keep, next to the stables. She wanted to see them before their journey back to Winterfell and say a final farewell to her home. Normally a wedding uniting two of the seven great families of Westeros would have been attended by hundreds with lords and ladies traveling miles to pay their respects. The entire Stark family would have journeyed south and the King and Queen would certainly have left Kingslanding to be hosted for weeks at the Rock.

These were unusual times. Winter was coming, and not just any winter, but the longest winter in living memory. Under other circumstances she might have been sad that her family and the most important people in the realm were not attending her wedding. Now she felt nothing. She didn’t care who saw her marry the imp, she only wished to become Lady Lannister unscathed. Even though she knew her father's men could not protect her now that she was at the mercy of the Lannisters, she still wished they could stay a few more days. She understood though that not a single person could be spared in the north’s preparation for winter. They needed to return to Winterfell as soon as possible.

Though Sansa was too young to remember the last time the Citadel announced winter’s arrival, she knew that this winter’s announcement was abnormal. Though the ravens carrying the message arrived like always, in the waning days of autumn, they usually did not contain such a frightening warning. The Maesters at the Citadel had predicted that this uncommonly long winter could last twenty years, bringing about starvation and the dreaded shivers, a disease that had not been seen in Westeros for centuries.

Highborn and small folk alike would have worked day and night to prepare for the winter, but there was yet another threat that had the realm in terror. The reports of the Targaryen Queen in the east were becoming more frequent. Sansa had remembered the fear in the realm a few years past when the dragons of this foreign queen had reached maturity. She was six and ten years at the time, no longer a child, but she remembered imagining those massive beasts flying over Westeros, raining fire down on Winterfell. As the months pasts and there was no invasion and many in the realm were relieved. It was said that the Dragon Queen wished to subdue the rebellions in her eastern empire before expanding west. For years there was slow preparation for that eventuality, but just last month King Robert had hastened the process, calling on each noble house to contribute men or goods for a Westerosi army. Sansa remembered Rob and Arya speculating that there must be fresh news of Daenerys and she must finally be preparing to invade Westeros.

It was with these dire thoughts in mind that she hugged Jory tightly and wished him a safe journey home. She understood how desperately all men were needed in Winterfell to prepare for winter and to meet the king’s military demands.

“A few of us have trained the Kennel Master here to take care of Lady. He is a kindly man and has built a special stall for Lady to sleep in, so there is no need to worry for her. She can roam freely in the lands, though you may want to take your time introducing her to the castle servants if you ever want to take her inside.”

For a moment Sansa did not know how to respond. She had assumed that Lady would be sleeping in her room with her most nights, just as she did in Winterfell. The surprise must have shown on her face because Jory continued to speak.

“It is for the best, my Lady. A southron man does not want a wolf in his bedchamber.” Jory frowned and held her shoulder.

Sansa nodded solemnly and made her goodbyes to the rest of the men. She watched as their horses galloped down the steep incline leading away from Casterly Rock.

As soon as she had reentered the keep, Genna came barreling down the hallway, grinning. “Oh my darling, there you are! I have been looking for you all morning. I have some ladies I would like you to meet.”

Before Sansa could even respond, Genna had swept her arm around Sansa’s shoulder and began shepherding her down the corridor. She led Sansa right into the great hall of Casterly Rock, the doors already held open by metal rings. Sansa looked around the great hall. It was triple the size of the great hall at Winterfell, and far brighter. The western wall was covered with tall windows that looked out onto the ocean. Light poured across the hall onto the tapestries on the eastern wall. At the northern end of the hall, a group of servants were hoisting a table up the steps onto a dias. She was just starting to examine the gallery that hung to the right of the dais, when Genna was pulled her off to the side and directed her attention to the two finely dressed young women.

“Sansa, allow me to introduce Lady Myrielle Lannister and Ireyne Marbrand. They are your cousins who reside her at the Rock and I have tasked them with assisting you in the final preparations for the wedding.”

The two young women curtsied pleasantly, and Sansa returned the gesture. She was glad to be able to fall into a practiced roll as she was disoriented from her morning of farewells.

The older one spoke first. “My Lady, it is an honor to make your acquaintance. My name is Myrielle.” She spoke clearly and seriously and looked to be about Sansa’s age. She stood tall with golden curls tumbling about her face, a Lannister through and through.

Then the shorter girl eagerly stepped forward. This one, Ireyne, could not be much older than three and ten years, her freckled face sporting a sweet smile.

“My Lady.” The little one said with an excited curtsey. “My name is Ireyne of House Marbrand. I have come all the way from Ashemark to live here in the keep and be one of your Ladies. I am just so excited to assist you. The wedding is going to be so splendid!”

Sansa tried to not let the child’s excitement bother her, though it reminded her a bit too much of herself at that age, or even herself just a few months ago. She felt like she had aged a decade since she first learned that she was to be Lady Lannister.

Sansa responded appropriately, expressing polite gratitude for their help, and asking them a few shallow questions about themselves. She was leagues away from her home, her father’s men gone, and Lady was shut up in some kennel. She felt as if everything were unreal, as if she were in a dream, buried under a murky layer of sluggish confusion. Thankfully the women did not seem to expect much from her. Genna would ask the group a question and Lady Ireyne and Lady Myrielle would eagerly share their opinion on this color fabric, or that seating arrangement, and Sansa would agree, barely hearing what was going on around her, and caring even less.

As soon as it could be considered polite, Sansa dismissed herself and rushed back outside to the kennels. _I need to see Lady._ She got somewhat turned around trying to find the Kennels, but a few stable hands pointed her in the right direction. When she finally found the pen where Lady was resting, she fell to her knees in the straw and hugged Lady to her chest.

“Oh Lady, I’m so sorry you must sleep out here” she cried into the wolf’s enormous neck. She pulled back and looked at Lady, who promptly licked the tears off her face. She could not help but smile at Lady’s placid expression, not bothered at all about her new accommodations.

“I will miss welcoming you into my room on cold nights, but I promise to visit you as often as I can. And you can roam the forest here as much as you like. Soon I will introduce you to the castle servants so you can visit me.” She hugged Lady to herself again and kissed her multiple times on a warm patch of fur between her ears.

When Sansa was exiting the Kennel, she saw a rough-looking man with gray shaggy hair approaching. When he saw her, he immediately bowed respectfully.

“M’Lady, it is an honor to meet you. I’m Aren, the Kennel master here. I promise to look after your wolf, though she doesn’t seem to need much looking after."

“Lady hunts for herself, she sometimes disappears for days, but when she returns she likes to have a warm place to sleep.”

Aren nodded. “Yes, we heat the kennels in Winter. Don’t worry, I take good care of my pups. Your wolf seems a gentle creature.”

Sansa continued to question Aren for some time, but she was assured of his competence and his affection for the dogs. She continued to return to the kennel to see Lady every evening leading up to the wedding.

The night before the wedding Sansa’s very bones felt tired. The past few days had been a flurry of activity. Though Genna had prepared most of the wedding, she still assigned Sansa enough tasks to prevent her from having a minute of rest. If there was ever a lull in her activity, Genna would scurry over, pulling her here and there, asking her to choose color combinations of drapery, or which flowers to arrange, or which musician should perform first, or some other decision from a seemingly an endless list.

She was grateful for the activity which stopped her from contemplating her future and sinking into despair over this inevitable union. Myrielle and Ireyene were also a pleasant enough distraction. She knew that they held no power, particularly Ireyne, but she still divulged very little information about herself to them in fear that they would report it to their more powerful Lannister kin. Their superficial conversations mostly revolved around the wedding planning.

During the afternoon before the wedding, Sansa was seeing to the finishing touches of decoration in the Great Hall. Genna pulled her aside.

“My dear, I hope I have kept you occupied these past few days. I remember being a bride and it is never healthy to dwell too much on things you cannot change.”

Sansa only nodded in response, not sure how much she could say without offending the Lannister family but no longer wishing to lie to this woman who had seen her needs so clearly.

“I wanted to wish you the best of luck tomorrow. I know this is all very scary. We have only known each other these past few days but I hope you can trust me when I tell you – Tyrion is a good man. You are lucky to marry him. I have known him since he was a child and there are few in the realm as clever or as kind as him. I know he is not the handsome prince of your dreams, but you have nothing to fear from him.”

Tears sprung to Sansa’s eyes at this declaration. She wanted to believe Genna so badly that she ached. Genna then kissed her on the forehead and then cleared her face of all seriousness with a grin.

“You should count yourself lucky. I’d take a smart man over a pretty one any day. Sadly, I ended up with neither!”

Genna escorted her back to her bedchamber. “Get some rest, my dear, you wouldn’t want to look tired on your wedding day” she said with a wink and left Sansa alone in her bedchamber.

She listened to Genna’s heavy steps as the women exited the corridor.

Sansa allowed her budding tears to grow and stream down her face. She couldn’t believe Genna. She knew what the entire rest of the realm said, what her own uncle said. Tyrion’s aunt might see him through a cloudy lens, but Sansa must maintain clarity. Her anxiety washed over her like an enormous wave as she sat stiffly on her chair with her arms clutched around her. As the evening wore on, her mind wandered into worse and worse scenarios. The imp would lock her in the bedchamber, he would torture her and take pleasure in her pained shrieks, he would defile her in ways that she could not even imagine.

They had barely interacted the past few days, only exchanging courteous greetings when they briefly encountered each other. She had been able to maintain composure, focusing on her new duties and Genna’s many tasks. But here, on the night before her wedding, she could not help but let the melancholy overwhelm her. Tears flowed from her eyes as she thought about how different everything was from her childhood fantasies. She had hoped that she would be nervous, but excited before her wedding. As a child she had never imagined that she would be contemplating all of the maneuvers to protect herself against her future husband, filled with dread and distrust.

After her crying quieted, she heard a knock at the door. She quickly dried her face and went to open it, expecting a servant with some last-minute question about the wedding. As she opened the large wooden door, she was surprised to see the imp himself at her door. She was immediately gripped with fear. _Why is he visiting alone at night?_ Sansa could not help but recollect all of the horrific stories of the imp that just been envisioning. Though she knew it was only one day until he could fulfill whatever vile desires he had, she was not prepared nor expecting her torment to start now.

He must have seen the shock and fear on her face for he quickly apologized. “I am so sorry, my Lady. I do not wish to disturb you and I will not keep you for long. I wanted to speak with you briefly.”

Sansa nodded dumbly, still shocked by his presence and unsure of what to say. Tyrion looked down as if to gather his courage and then looked up again, right into her eyes.

"I know that I am the last person in Westeros that you wish to be marrying tomorrow.” Sansa’s pulse began to thrum, in fear, knowing that she could not let this conception stand, no matter how true it was.

“Of course not, my Lord. It will be an honor to wed you tomorrow.”

Tyrion grimaced and continued. “…Well yes of course. What I mean to say is that I understand that neither of us chose this marriage. It was commanded by the king.”

Sansa was taken aback but did not let it show on her face. She had never even considered that Lord Lannister might also object to this marriage. She had only been concerned with herself.

Tyrion continued “But I mean to make the most of it. I want to be your ally, if not your friend. I mean to protect you and do my best to make you happy, even in these less-than-ideal circumstances. I do not expect anything from you at all. I only ask you, implore you really, for your honesty. I hope we may someday be friends but if not, I will still keep all of my promises.”

Sansa nodded, once again steeling herself against being drawn into his sweet deceptive Lannister lies. She coldly responded.

“Yes, my lord. It will be an honor to fulfill my duty as your wife.”

Tyrion face crumbled, his eyebrows furrowing, and his strange, mismatched eyes seemingly filled with sorrow. For a second, Sansa felt the urge to reach out to him and assure him that of course they could be friends, but then he regained his composure.

“Goodnight Lady Sansa” he said and swiftly departed.

Sansa stood at the door a moment longer. _He must be trying to manipulate me._ She signed wearily and crawled into her bed, looking forward to the oblivion of sleep but not the wedding day that would follow it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit, I'm not completely satisfied with this chapter but it contains set up that is needed for the plot to progress. If you can believe it, I'm already impatient for the happy ending of my own story!


	6. Chapter 6

The door to the sept was open and Tyrion peered through, looking at the backs of his bannermen and the spare relatives of the great houses of Westeros. He spotted Luthor Tyrell, a cousin to the Highgarden Tyrells who he had seen at a tourney two years past. On the other end of the sept was a tall man whose dress was distinctly Dornish, probably one of the many Martel nephews. Tyrion hoped they were taking in the splendor of Casterly Rock, the sept lit with hundreds of candles and bedecked with white silk banners embellished with gold lions. They would scurry back to their more powerful kin to report the continued power and wealth of House Lannister, even with the imp as lord.

At the moment, Tyrion could not bring himself to care much about what these guests thought of the splendor. He only looked on solemnly while he waited for Sansa to arrive so they could enter the sept together. He was still rattled by their conversation the previous night. Her cold assurance of the honor of their marriage and the rejection of his offer of friendship had hurt. He had hoped they could share their insecurities, that he could catch some glimpse of the women he was to marry, but he was met with a steely mask of curtesy and falsehood. _Why do I always set myself up for disappointment? I should expect nothing from her except for duty_.

He turned as he heard steps approaching from the corridor behind him. Sansa practically floated in, a picture of pure grace and elegance. The ivory samite gown clung to her torso while ornate Myrish lace covered her chest. Her grey maidens cloak rested on her shoulders, the direwolf insignia proudly displayed on the lapel. Two moonstones framed her face, strangely mirroring her somber blue eyes. Tyrion had to take a deep breath. It was as if the maiden incarnate had walked up to stand beside him. As he took in her exquisite loveliness, he sunk deeper into his dejected state. She was even more unreachable to him in her perfection. Her cold eyes surveyed him, showing not even a hint of emotion.

In the few minutes before they were to enter the sept, he felt compelled to say something to her. He yearned for some ounce of connection or understanding. _No, I have said all I mean to say last night. There is nothing else to be said._ When they were signaled by the septon to enter, Tyrion turned to his bride. “Come my Lady, let us do our duty.”

As the ceremony was performed and the rites read, Tyrion watched Sansa’s face for any passing emotion. Her perfect stone-like composure never slipped, not even for an instant. He was sure the two of them made quiet the spectacle. _She is perfect. I look like a gargoyle next to the homeliest of women, but next to this goddess taking human form? I must truly appear monstrous. A demon dragging a maiden into a hellish underworld._

When the conclusion the ceremony finally arrived, Tyrion stood on a stool and laid the Lannister red cloak over her. Even on such a stool, his exceptionally tall wife was still taller than him and she had to tilt her head down slightly so he could kiss her at the proscribed moment. With her stunning countenance so close, he could only shut down all thoughts and briefly brush his lips against hers.

*******

Sansa had cleared her mind of all thoughts during the ceremony, maintaining her composer by taking on the role of an observer. She wanted to display strength and confidence now more than ever. If the Lannister’s sensed her fear, they would use it to manipulate her, just as the Blackfish said.

When they had first entered the sept, she had been overwhelmed by the vision of thousands of candles, flowers, and gold and white banners. It was grander than any fantasy she had ever dreamed up of her wedding. She would have wept at all this southern splendor, at the loss of her dream of true love, but she anchored herself and pushed all emotions into the recesses of her mind. She did not dwell on the moment when the Lannister cloak was laid on her shoulders and her family insignia ripped from her body. She only looked straight ahead calmly. She barely remembered the perfunctory kiss that marked the end of the ceremony.

The feast had woken from her daze. No matter how depressed she was about the marriage itself, she could not help but find joy in the celebration in the Great Hall. She and Tyrion sat at the high table as local bannermen and highborn folk from throughout the realm approached and congratulated them. Sansa felt so uplifted by the love and support of her newly acquired people. They all seemed so friendly and eager to speak with her. It was impossible for Sansa not to reciprocate their warmth. After dozens of greetings, a man and a woman approached, both dressed in teal. Tyrion greeted them immediately.

“Lord Kenning, thank you for joining us today.”

The man bowed in respect and approached the dais.

“Let me congratulate you on such an auspicious marriage, my Lord. It is an honor to meet you, my Lady. I am Terrence Kenning, and this is my wife Tessa Kenning”

Tess Kenning curtsied “My lady, we are so happy to welcome you to the Westerlands.”

Sansa smiled genuinely, and warmly responded. “Thank you for your welcome. I am pleased to be in such a beautiful part of Westeros.”

Sansa noticed that Lady Kenning was wearing a white necklace, but on closer inspection, the white beads were in fact tiny seashells. “Lady Kenning, the shells on your necklace are lovely. Do you find many shells here?”

“Yes, my Lady. I actually collected them on our beach at Kayce. They wash ashore in all colors and shapes and I enjoy stringing them into jewelry.”

“I admire that you are using the materials of your home to create beauty. At Winterfell we would sometimes spot agate and have it made into earrings.”

Lady Kenning blushed and thanked Sansa profusely for her compliment before the next guest approached the dais. Sansa continued half the night, giving compliments and asking questions. She hoped her smiles and friendly conversation were enough to expressive her gratitude for the warm reception of the Lannister bannermen. She could have continued on greeting people for hours, but the music changed to a livelier tune and people began to coalesce at the center of the hall to dance.

Oh, how Sansa loved to dance! She was so thrilled that she almost jumped up immediately, but she stopped once she remembered that she would be expected to lead the dance with Tyrion. She looked over at her husband. He had been somewhat withdrawn for the entirety of the feast, greeting the guests politely but mostly acting as an observer. He seemed to be lost in thought.

Sansa interrupted his introspection softly, afraid to anger her new husband in anyway. “My Lord, should we lead the dance?” Tyrion looked surprised that she was even addressing him. _He seems more perplexed than angry._

“I am afraid I am not one for dancing” he responded dryly. Then he turned to his uncle. “Uncle, would you do us the honor of leading the dance in my stead?”

Kevan nodded and rose, giving Sansa his arm to guide her to the floor. As soon as they began the dance, dozens joined them. After Kevan had complimented her and the two had danced cordially for some time, everyone switched partners in the hall. Sansa found herself dancing with one of the young knights she had met earlier. The music picked up and she lost herself in the rhythmic steps of the dance. She switched from partner to partner, being spun around again and again. She had to laugh aloud when one young nobleman from the east twirled her an extra time.

She was giddy with pleasure and somewhat dizzy, when the music slowed to a gentle trot. Sansa excused herself from the dance floor, walking over to a table of refreshments next to a pillar. She picked up an orange pastry from the small table and munched on it happily, then washed it down with mead brought by a serving girl. She was about to head back into the dance, when she heard her name being spoken on the other side of the pillar. The two voices had obviously not noticed her walking over to take refreshments.

“Sansa Stark, I should say Sansa Lannister, is just as beautiful as they say!” one of the voices proclaimed, highborn in inflection and pitched slightly high, though the voice sounded male.

Another voice responded. “Yes. It will be a gratifying to see this wedding’s bedding. My cousin will regret not coming himself when I tell of how I undressed the beauty of the north.”

“Did you not hear? Lord Lannister has forbidden the bedding ceremony.”

“Why would he do such a thing? Does he not wish to consummate the marriage?”

“Of course he wants to fuck the beauty of the north. Men far more honorable than that lecher lust for her.”

“Then why forbid the bedding ceremony? Is he shy? Doesn’t want us to hear him bed his wife?”

“I’ve heard that he likes his women screaming in pain when he takes them. The disgusting imp probably treats his wife like he treats his whores. No bedding ceremony, no one hears the Stark girl’s cries.”

*******

Tyrion had lost sight of Sansa in the Great Hall. His eyes had been following her the entire evening as his young wife astonished him again and again. First, she charmed his bannermen, one by one, in ways he could never hope to accomplish. Months of wining and dining these men could not achieve what she could with a warm smile and a single compliment. She exuded warmth and made each of their guests feel heard and welcomed. He could see the admiration and love growing on their faces. He could not help but admire her as well. She was already more popular among his bannermen than he was, and she had only just met them. Then as she joined the dance, she had stunned them all, twirling around in a beautiful blaze of white, her red hair cascading down her back. She came alive in the dance. Tyrion could not help but find her even more beautiful with her cheeks flushed and her head tipped back in laughter. She seemed so open with these people, both in her greetings and in her dance. _If only she could spare a tenth of that openness for me._ She was not as guarded with him during the feast as she had been during the ceremony. He hoped this was a sign of progress. _She will have to open up to me eventually._

Then he could see Sansa approaching the dais again, joining him at the high table. When his eyes met hers, he could see terror in her eyes for a split second, before she smoothed it over with a blank expression. He was perplexed. What possibly could have frightened her during the dance? And why hide her fear from him? When she sat next to him, before he could ask what was wrong, she asked him outright.

“Will there be a bedding ceremony, my Lord?”

_That is why she is terrified. She must have gotten a taste of the ribald comments and does not want to be undressed by these strangers. Forbidding the bedding ceremony, at the very least, is a kindness I can do for her. A way to make her more comfortable all alone in a foreign land._

“No. I requested that there be no bedding ceremony.” Tyrion looked at her while he said this, hoping that it would comfort her and therefore ease that stony expression she was ostensibly using to hide her fear. But nothing in her countenance changed, in fact she seemed even more tense.

She had now returned to her closed off state, to the cold mask she wore during the ceremony. Just looking at her made Tyrion feel exhausted and all he wanted to do was leave the damnable hall. Sansa no longer looked to be enjoying herself, so he did not think she would mind departing early.

“My Lady, should we leave now and not interrupt the rest of the celebration?”

She nodded her assent. Tyrion stood and signaled the musicians to stop playing, He made a few brief and serious comments thanking everyone for attending the wedding and wishing them all the best in their preparations for winter before departing with Sansa back to their chambers.

When he finally closed to door to his chambers and looked around, he could see how Sansa’s items were now nestled among his own in the room.

She was seated on the bed, staring straight ahead, as if asleep with her eyes open. Tyrion breathed in and waddled over to the wine, pouring two generous cups. He handed one to Sansa.

“Drink, wife. I shall too. And together we can fulfill out duty and remember very little tomorrow.” It was not that Tyrion did not want to remember bedding Sansa. The woman was so stunning, her form so perfect, that he could not imagine desiring a woman more. It was her disgust with him that he wished to forget. He knew she was excellent at maintaining that cold mask of composure, but he doubted she could hide her unwillingness as she forced herself to fulfill her duty. He knew that her disgust would tear at the part of him that knew he wasn’t made to be loved. He wished to drown such a memory in drink.

Sansa gulped the wine down and began to undress robotically. Tyrion busied himself by stripping to his smallclothes. He then went around the bedchamber blowing out the candles. He knew that darkness would make the experience bearable for Sansa. _She will not have to look at my twisted features and stunted little body._

Before Tyrion blew out the last candle by the bedside, he looked to Sansa. She sat expressionless on the bed in her shift. 

“Sansa. In the dark, I am no different from other men. Just imagine some comely lad you favor, and I will make sure there is pleasure in the bedding.”

She had no reaction to this comment, as if she didn’t even hear him. _She is working so very hard to hide her disgust._

He blew out the last candle. He went to lay a hand on her arm, but when he touched her, she jerked violently back.

“I…I’m sorry my Lord, please forgive me…I” Sansa stammered. It was then, by the moonlight that Tyrion noticed she was shaking.

He had bed many women in the past who were sickened by the sight of him, but he had paid them well to pretend. He did not expect, nor did he want Sansa to feign desire like a whore, but the full expression of her revulsion was still surprising. _All those years of paying for love has made me forget what I monster I truly am. She cannot bear for me to touch her, even in the darkness I revolt her._

He drew back and sat at the far end of the bed. _I could never be drunk enough for this._

“Sansa, please do not fret. I will – we do not need to consummate the marriage tonight.” _Or ever, if I am truly that repellent._

Sansa didn’t respond and it was too dark for Tyrion to read her expression. He was glad at least to be spared her disgusted expression. 

“I can go sleep in my solar if that would make you more comfortable, but I am afraid that the servants might talk. I am not so naïve to think that the master of whispers has not planted a few spies in my own household. I worry that the king will hear that we did not consummate the marriage, and considering he commanded our marriage, it would be treason.”

Sansa still did not respond as Tyrion lowered himself off the bed and walked over to the settee. She did not request for him to go nor did she say he could stay.

“I will sleep over here for the night. We can worry about the servant’s gossip in the morning. Goodnight, my Lady.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments! I was too busy this week to respond but I truly appreciate them :)


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